


Benediction

by EarthAngel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:28:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthAngel/pseuds/EarthAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is finally ready to tell Dean how he feels about him but will he get a chance.<br/>Thank you to cymbalism for inspiring me with her wonderful writings and especially her story 'Do This In Memory of Me'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benediction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cymbalism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cymbalism/gifts).



Benediction. 

 

It’s morning. 

I know this because even though Dean’s bedroom has no windows and so I cannot see the day bloom to glorious life, I can still feel the light. Such as I am now, and I am a wretched tatter of a thing, I can still see the beauty of the day.

It is even more now like a benediction, like my Father’s grace has been flooded over us and I am grateful, for I know I am not worthy. But then I know this miracle is not for me. I am just collateral benefit in his mercy for Dean. 

I do not care. I will take this gift in any shape it comes for even after all that I have lost, and have caused to be lost, he stills allows me this glory, and I offer a silent prayer in thanks for his eternal love. 

Dean is quiet and still and for me to be able to say that is a wonder. He has suffered unbearably and watching it has been the worst thing I have ever endured but it has brought me to the truth. 

I know that now. 

Know the absolute reality of my world and I ache for him to wake so that I may finally share that with him. 

With Dean...My Dean. 

And this time I will. I will tell him. I will risk all I have, chance that I will loose all that is now meaningful to me, but I will tell him. 

Because he deserves to know and I have nothing left now to give him other than the truth.

And so I watch as he breathes softly, as he has not for the last, I don’t know how many days, and it is as if time has become almost meaningless. 

His skin is still too pale, though he does not radiate with fetid, corrupt heat now as the fever finally broke last evening but his lips are still faintly blue and if I were to touch him, I know he would feel cold. 

Oh and I want to touch him. My palms burn with the need to touch him. I want to hold him to me so that, just as he is scarred with the image of my hand, then my flesh will be imprinted with the very essence of him. 

But will he let me? 

Fuck. 

I do not know. 

Look at what I have done to him? What I have caused him to suffer. His interminable pain is down to me. His blood literally on my hands. 

So I do not know. 

I wait.

He mumbles a little and I lean closer to him, my body stiff from hours of sitting at his bed-side willing him to live. I can feel his shallow breath against my skin and it scorches like lightning, like life-blood through my veins. 

His eyes are moving beneath the sickly grey bruise of his closed lids and his lips twitch as if he is trying to speak but I suspect he has not the strength, after all he has endured. 

I wait.

Seconds or maybe hours pass. It doesn’t matter. I can be no-where other than here. 

He begins slowly to stir. Little movements at first. A twitch of a limb, a turn of his head against the sweat-dampened pillow. 

But they are signs of life. Glowing markers of the benediction and my heart pounds in my ears till I can barely hear. 

I wait again. 

When his eyes finally open it is more sudden than I anticipated and it takes me by surprise. I find myself inches from the golden-green that is my damnation, my soul, my possible redemption. 

“I...I...di...di...n’t die?”

His voice is a wasted, cracked whisper that floats toward me and punches through me with it’s beauty and I shake my head because, for all my determination, I am rendered mute by the joy of the sound. 

And he smiles. 

Oh it’s a little lop-sided and the motion threatens to split his rough, dry lips but it seers my vision, blinds me for any of creation’s wonders other than him. 

“No. You didn’t die...”

I finally manage to mumble but I cannot smile for terror is clamping my heart as I try and find the place within me that my thousand-times practiced words have fled to. 

I slide from the hard chair and sit carefully on the side of the thin mattress so I can look into his face as he lies propped against the stack of pillows. 

He rolls his head weakly, following my eyes, fighting the exhaustion that speaking that one line has wrought. He looks un-made, fragile, like if I close the distance between us it will bruise him and I hesitate because to cause him more pain would be unconscionable. 

His crippled arm is bound to his chest. Held still by bandages and splints and pillows to try and quiet the agony it engenders for him but he manages to twitch his finger toward me, drawing me into him.

I shuffle up the bed and our hips press together through the thin sheet that covers him, It burns and it is desire and lust that is hard to ignore as I reach my arm over him to brace my hand by his waist. 

We are so close that if I breathed deeply my chest would brush against his and I am emboldened by the fact that he makes no move to have me withdraw, frowns not one iota at my intrusion into his personal space. 

Maybe I can, after all, speak the words I long to? Tell him what my heart longs to tell him? Maybe he is giving me permission to bare my soul to him? 

I lean fractionally closer so his laboured breaths bruise my cheek and I believe I also ‘tilt my freaking head’ and Dean never flinches, just smiles. 

His eyes are fluttering, sleep is pulling him down and so I am amazed as he finds enough energy to raise his hand to me. It ghosts against my cheek, his rough finger tips trembling at the corner of my eye as the pad of his thumb sweeps against my lip. 

“I love you.”

He whispers and I cannot breathe...cannot think...

Tears run down my face to drip from my chin and he twitches a finger to wipe them away. 

“I love you too.”

I think I say but maybe it’s just a sob and he edges forward, all broken and ruined and radiant and I close my arms gently about him, knowing I have found my heart. 

My home. 

My soul.

 

ends

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy it.


End file.
